‘Chennai Love Story’ movie review: Sri Gouri Priya is terrific in a film that loses steam midway

It is unfair to analyse a film as two halves. In the case of debut director Ravi Namburii’s Telugu film Chennai Love Story, however, it becomes inevitable. Sai Rajesh, who has written the story, screenplay and produced the film, introduces a twist at the mid-point that changes how the audience is likely to perceive the film. Everything from this point depends on whether one gives in to an idea that defies logic and what it entails, even if the story thankfully ends on a pragmatic note.

To be fair, Sai Rajesh and Ravi Namburii establish the film’s mood and story well enough in the initial portions to indicate that this may not be a regular love story.

The film begins with Nivedita (Sri Gouri Priya) being deserted by her fiance on the wedding day. Her friends are supportive. But rather than suggesting therapy when she gives in to emotional turmoil, they respect her personal space. She finds refuge in alcohol.

The Chennai setting lends the narrative a distinct charm with understated visual aesthetics (cinematography by Viswas Daniel and art direction by Bhaskar Mudavath). Considerable portions have been filmed outdoors, with the local trains, beach, breeze and rain standing witness to her story.

There’s visual imagery in the form of movie icons and dialogues referred to through posters and t-shirts, and Mani Sharma’s music is steeped in melodies that evoke the magic of Ilaiyaraaja.

In film circles, it’s a known fact that Sai Rajesh is an ardent fan of the maestro’s music, and this reflects throughout the film. He also tips his hat to movie legends. The characterisation of the male protagonist as an aspiring director only makes this easier. Alongside a love story that brews gradually between Nivedita and Steven Shankar (Kiran Abbavaram), these portions also become the director’s and writer’s love story to cinema.

Everything that defines Steven Shankar’s character is written with thought, to ensure setups and payoffs as the story progresses. Take his name, for instance. It’s a reflection of him being a fan of directors Steven Spielberg and Shankar. In a passing scene, we see him take notes from a Hollywood film. In a later scene, a character tells him that his stories read like derivatives of other filmmakers’ works rather than shining with an original voice. It’s similar to his name. Elsewhere, this also echoes in how a famous Tamil film producer considers his story.

The writing in these portions seems to stem from real-life observations and experiences of Sai Rajesh and Ravi Namburii, mirroring the plight of the nameless and faceless aspiring filmmakers for whom narrating a story itself is a win, even if the producer turns them down. It also brims with self-deprecating humour. Watch out for the dialogues that reflect the frequent conversations among filmmakers and movie buffs about the difference between Telugu and Tamil cinema and the underlying truth.

While at it, the writing cleverly draws attention to Steven’s real name and his encounter with someone at a beachside stall, which seems random at first but echoes later in the story. The love story, too, is written with care, ensuring neither of the two protagonists are judged or sidestepped.

Chennai Love Story is a treat to watch until the key plot twist, packing within it an emotional love story and filmmaking aspirations. Sai Rajesh particularly pays homage to Mani Ratnam’s Mouna Raagam, and Mani Sharma’s score subtly but surely pays homage to Ilaiyaraaja’s iconic background score for that film.

After the intermission, however, it’s almost as though we are watching a different film. It can take a while to get past the suspension of disbelief.

The narrative hopes that the audience, having watched enough emotional love stories over the decades, will resonate with it. The old-world treatment given to the film thus far also accentuates this mood.  

The beats of the story from this point become predictable. Some portions are intentionally funny, while others are unintentional. Some scenes test patience. The long duration doesn’t help either.

Chennai Love Story’s major strength is Sri Gouri Priya’s performance. She is astute in portraying the mix of vulnerability and steadfastness required for her character. Whether it’s heartbreak, being unapologetic in rage, or giving in to helplessness, she makes it all seem lived in. Kiran Abbavaram puts forth a measured, understated portrayal.

Had the writing taken a different, practical route post the intermission, perhaps we would have had a contemporary love story that dealt with trauma and moving on. But this film wants to be partly contemporary and partly old-world melodramatic. There lies its confusion. The result is a partly engaging film that doesn’t soar.